


pursuit of happiness

by squishychan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Bulimia, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups-centric, Eating Disorders, Gender Dysphoria, Graphic Description of Purging, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Trans Male Character, i've posted this like three times already but i'm a coward who fears being judged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishychan/pseuds/squishychan
Summary: Hitting the lowest of lows only makes you go lower—Seungcheol knows this better than anyone else.(Or, there's no middle ground in an eating disorder.)





	pursuit of happiness

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags before proceeding, i literally cannot stress this enough  
> (yep, this is vent ╥_╥)

He's slipping again, with everything he'd worked so damn hard for crumbling before his very eyes. His blood, sweat, and tears swirling down the drain like frothy toothpaste sludge, the fizz of minty freshness hot on his tongue.

 

He's retreating back into his old ways and he's completely powerless to stop it. 

 

_But does he even want to stop it that is?_

 

Watching the scale calculate his weight with baited breath, fingers crossed that he's lost another pound, praying fervently that his current weight hasn't gone up. A smile curving on his lips when he sees he's lost another two pounds, stepping off the scale softly, turning to face himself in the mirror. Fingers roaming over his flabby tummy, pinching harshly at the chub gathered between his thumb and forefinger, shirt hitched up to his much too curved chest, disgust painted all over his face. Slipping off his baggy top as he sucks in his stomach, watching as his ribs shift underneath his skin, visible outlines eerily satisfying. But still not enough, because they weren't as defined as they should be, it just wasn't enough for him to be happy with his body, already struggling enough as it were with his fucking gender.

 

Placing the scale back into its secret hiding place (far away from the prying eyes of the other members) as he pulls his clothes back on, shuffling quietly out of the bathroom, all the lights in the rooms off. A pleasant silence washed over the dorm, only the sound of Seungcheol's footsteps softly padding against the wooden floor boards as he heads down the hallway to the kitchen being heard.

 

His arms moving on their own, a puppeteer controlling his every move, as he opens the cupboards, which are stocked full of sweet, fattening foods. His stomach grumbles loudly—he's just so hungry, having fasted all of yesterday and so far the entirety of today, hunger pangs making him cry out during practice. The others shooting him looks of concern that he promptly brushed off, offering a weak smile as some sort of shitty reassurance—though he knows that none of them bought it.

 

Slender fingers ripping open the first packet of mini chocolate chip cookies, for once not caring about the red calorie label, almost forgetting to chew as he shoves one after the other into his mouth, greed tugging on his starved insides. Reaching for the bag of powdered donuts, a little thing that held so much calories, fingers stained with a sticky whiteness, which lingers around his mouth. A dozen glazed cinnamon rolls disappearing as he eats and eats, dimly aware of the sudden fullness pressing up against his shirt, his stomach cramping up in protest, the sudden intake of food too much for it to handle, telling him to just fucking stop already.

 

But he doesn't, licking at his fingers wolfishly to get every last sugary morsel off, the pain blossoming in his lower belly pushed down, the pleasure of eating outweighing it by a landslide.

 

The tears rolling down his cheeks snapping him back into reality, the horror of what he'd done sinking in, the haze wearing off in an instant. Barely managing to shove the trashcan open in time, his puke coming up on its own accord, no longer needing to be coaxed anymore. So fucking used to such torment happening on a regular basis, just knowing when it was to take place again. An itch tickling at his tonsils.

 

The nasty voice inside his head telling him he better fucking hurry, or else all those calories will head straight to his hips, maybe even packing on fat at his fucking breasts. Sneering about just how fucking feminine he’s sure to become.

 

Shoulders shaking as he heaves and heaves, the mess splattering to the bottom of the bin with a sickly sound, his body jerking painfully. Retching until nothing but slimy bile comes up, sharp and acidic, stinging the back of his abused throat.

 

Slowly looking around, relieved that no one was there to have witnessed his little fuck up, hands trembling as he closes the lid shut, grabbing a napkin to wipe at any specks of vomit that remained.

 

Slinking back into bed with a heavy heart, hatred oozing out of him—yet incredibly proud of himself all the same (it's fucked up, he knows). Jisoo and Jeonghan snuggling into his side, oblivious to what just occurred in the kitchen. Their sleeping faces peaceful, softened and so serene—oh how Seungcheol longs for that too. But it's merely wishful thinking at this point, because tomorrow will bear the very same fruits—worm-eaten peaches, shriveled up apples, rotten plums, and moldy apricots.

 

But hey, at least he'll be good enough in the end, right?

**Author's Note:**

> skskskk i feel so vulnerable n exposed  
> like hecK this was a hella tough fic to post :')


End file.
